Wear a Mask
by ThatSassMaster
Summary: I'd always dreamed about being in the Magical World. I should have realized exactly what I was asking for. Politics and classes; being the perfect daughter. I didn't count on being caught between friends or losing anyone important. I should have known. (SI) ((Pairings to be decided on later))
1. Mors et Renascentia

**Disclaimer:** I definitely don't own Harry Potter. I think we all know my name isn't J.K Rowling, sooooo...

AN: _I definitely shouldn't be writing any of this. I should definitely be focusing on my other story, but this would NOT leave my head. Don't except any updates until after next week. I should be done with finals then. However, if anyone is interested in being a Beta for me, feel free to let me know via PM!_

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><p>It never occurred to me to look both way while crossing the street in college. This fundamental lesson that was drilled into my mind when I was five years old, for some reason, disappeared from my mind thirteen years later. I was so sure that busses and cars were going to stop for me that I didn't bother to look. I didn't bother to strain my ears and see if there was anyone coming. With headphones in, I was too busy listening to Nick Jonas' latest single to bother looking.<p>

I was the center of my universe. I had my entire life to look forward to – which, for me, included a philosophy class then a five minute walk to my statistics class. I was the future of the world; I was aiming for a degree in business. I could have been a mom, a CEO, I could have been the president. I was invincible.

But, when a boy with curly brown hair is turned towards his blond friend in the passenger seat and didn't see me coming, he didn't stop. When a white Ford F-250 that weights about 5,600 pounds, plus the 410 pounds that came from the boys, doesn't stop, I am not the center of the universe. I am an obstacle. I do not have my entire life to look forward to. I am not going to be the leader of the free world. I will not be a mother. Do you know what I'll be?

Dead.

Or, so I thought.

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><p>I wasn't dead immediately. I wanted to be, but wasn't that lucky. I could hear the guys screaming and asking if I was still alive. I briefly saw a boy's face over my own. My left hand twitched, and I was aware I was crying. He grabbed my hand.<p>

"It's okay to let go."

So, I did. I let go and drifted off to sleep. The next thing I knew, I was warm.

I can't tell you how painful those first few weeks were, or really what went on in them. I'm not entirely sure. I can't tell you that I could control anything, or that the twitches of my body were through my own conscious movements. They weren't. I'm not even sure when, for sure, when the first movement really occurred. I'm not sure I could tell you when, exactly, I became aware of the fact that there was _someone_ across from me.

I can tell you that, even without my eyes open, I could reach out. There wasn't enough space for the two of us. We'd bump against each other, constantly push, kick, and punch each other. I could feel their hands all over me, and mine would reach out for them, too. I could feel what I used to know were kisses pressed against different parts of me, like my shoulder. For reasons I really can't explain to you, I felt myself doing the same, like their ear. More often than not, our hands would latch together.

This other..._thing_ and I were really close. Every once in a while, I could kind of see what was in front of me. A person, I think. I could hear heartbeats and muffled sounds.

It took me far longer to realize just _where_ I could be. Even longer to accept it. Luckily for me, I had enough time to come to term with it.

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><p>I'm not entirely sure if my birth was supposed to be extremely traumatic. I suppose I'm lucky in the sense that, for me and the baby next to me, we were lucky to have a cesarean section. I'm not the first one out. The baby next to me is grabbed away. I feel big hands, but I feel the absence of a hand about my size holding on to mine more. For the first time in nearly nine months, I have the womb to myself. When I do feel the hands grab on to my legs and pull me out, I open my mouth in silent screams.<p>

They became much more vocal once I was put in the arms of someone else. I could hear the other baby screaming still. Taking from their cue, I started crying hysterically, too. I could hear the doctors talking – "A boy and a girl" – so I could only assume that the other baby was a boy.

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><p>We are always together, my brother and I. Theodore Nikolas and Dorothea Medeia; from the moment that we were born, we slept in the same crib. The lady, who I could only assume was our mother, - but that was wrong. My mom had wavy brown hair and brown eyes, not black ringlets and blue eyes - never wanted to put us down. The nurses would take us when she'd fall asleep. I never saw my father - my dad was tall and big. When he'd kiss my cheek, his mustache would always scratch my face - but mother told us about him. He was working for someone. He'd be here as soon as he could be.<br>He never showed up, at least not at the hospital. Considering we were twins, I could only assume that Theodore and I were born probably sooner than the doctor - Healer Aksoy, my mother would say with all the soothing nature of her voice somehow leaving - would have liked. She was still visibly weakened, although very pretty.

It was very mortifying to realise that you have little to no control over your body. I would cry more out of embarrassment than anything else whenever I needed to be changed. Still, I did my very best to only cry when necessary. Well, except for when I realised how they were changing us. I'd realized that I was now born into a British family. I could understand the language, so I knew it was English; what really settled it in was the accent. I knew that, but I didn't really grasp what world I had been born into - what was going on. As disconcerting as it was to realize that I had no control over my bowel function, it was more surprising than anything to realize that the nurses only had to wave a _stick_ for me to be clean once more.

A _stick_. A _wand_.

When Theodore and I were finally allowed to leave the hospital - _St. Mungo's_, mother's tone was both disgusted and grateful - we met our father. The man was older than I had expected for him to be. Mother looked relatively young in comparison - at least by five or so years. He was definitely not affectionate. He took one look at her when she arrived, letting his eyes take her in once before looking down at Theodore and I. It was as if he was appraising us. After he deemed us satisfactory enough, he nodded and dismissed my mother. He claimed he had somewhere to go. With a loud pop, he disappeared. It took me a second after Theodore started wailing to follow in his example.

"Vaniel!" She cried, desperate to sooth us.

I calmed down a lot faster than he did with her bouncing. Perhaps that was why she handed me over so easily to the creature. Vaniel had big bat-like ears. Her nose was the size of a grape tomato. Her eyes were huge and blue, but a diluted blue. I'm not entirely sure what she was wearing - it looked like a tea rag. She looked very small standing next to my mother, but still bigger than both Theodore and I. I definitely stopped crying when I looked at her. If I had any qualms about what world I lived in, they were definitely gone by the time my mother handed me to Vaniel.  
>I think we were supposed to have had two separate rooms, my brother and I. Unfortunately, that hadn't worked for my mother. We had spent nearly nine months together. Despite my longing for independence, I couldn't help but feel odd when my brother wasn't around me. We cried long and hard when we were separated. I always felt as if I couldn't help it. Something about Theo being unpleased made me want to cry.<p>

My mother, too, was almost as constantly around me as Theodore was. If either of us were fussy, she would peek over our crib. She would lull us to sleep with songs and soft touches. If it were light out, she would feed us. I don't blame her for having Vaniel - or Sidhien, although Sidhien was a male house-elf and not nearly as nice as Vaniel - feed us and clean us at night. I'm sure it must have been difficult for her, but she always tried to hold on to us both. I could still remember my old mother, but Amaltheia, as my mother was named, tried her best. I couldn't help but be endeared to her as I was to Theo.

An Everything that I did, it was a fraction after he would instigate it. I assume that both of us were odd, however, because we rarely ever cried. Maybe he was taking cues from me, though. We switched off a lot. Theo learned to crawl faster than I did, but I said the first word ("Mama" so that her face would light up). I potty trained first, but he was walking and running far faster than either of us could. He would try to take me with him. His hand would always flail for me to take it before he started anywhere. It was just harder for me to keep up.

It shouldn't have been, but it was.

There were still words both of us messed up on, but, at least, by the time that we were three years old we no longer had to have Vaniel or Sidhein trailing after us to make sure we didn't fall or get hurt. Nott Villa was gigantic. Far bigger than I had thought when I was carried everywhere, but it was. Theo and I ("Thea", or so he'd call me) toddled along after Mama all the time. Sometimes, she would take us to parties and social gatherings. It wasn't said outright, but there was a general feeling that she didn't belong at these gatherings.

It was at said gatherings that I learned exactly where I was. Of all the times to be born, it _would_ be in the same year as Harry Potter. How did I know this? At said parties, we happened to make the acquaintance of one Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. Theo and I had had small lessons, more like reprimands from Mama, about how to behave. We were quite. We bowed and curtseyed when introduced to new people. Mama had it in her mind to dress us up in small robes we'd constantly trip over, so we didn't move around very much.

This was not acceptable behavior to Draco and Pansy, who constantly sought to tear us apart. From Draco's view, I suppose now that the adults had moved out of the way, Theodore was a boy and should play with him and the other boys - Blaise Zabini and two other boys that were introduced as Gareth Vaisey and Cameron Harper who seemed a little older than Blaise and Draco. Meanwhile, Pansy was adamant that I join her, the Greengrass sisters, and the Carrow twins in having a tea party. It took a while, but we did eventually separate from one another.

I did find that I quite liked Daphne, but didn't care much for the rest of them. Daphne was quiet, almost as quiet as I was, but her sister definitely was not. Despite being two, Astoria constantly babbled and spoke as if she knew everything. Pansy, likewise, took charge of the group when neither Daphne nor I would. They went on and on about different robes and lessons that their parents had them take. I knew Theo and I would be a little behind, but, as they went on and on listing everything out, I couldn't help but feel we were ages behind the rest of our group.

The boys weren't quite running around making a mess of things, but they were playing a sort of game that looked like freeze tag. Theodore was not having a good time - not by the way he scrunched up his nose when one of the other boys would knock him down. He was definitely not the physical type. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, despite Harper protesting, and brushed himself off. He said something cooly to them and strode over in our direction. Pansy was not pleased when he offered his hand to me, but I took it easily and excused myself as politely as I could.

Mama looked more ready to leave the group than either of us were. She, too, did not seem to like the other wives - or, I was right in my prediction that they didn't like her. The only one who seemed to be even a smidgen ready to speak to her at all was Lady Greengrass. She took one look at us and excused herself, claiming that we looked much too tired to continue on for long, and that I had previously been battling a cold.

"It would be terrible if she got sick again."

I'm not sure why I did it, but I couldn't help but somewhat help my Mama's story. I coughed a little into my hand and hid behind my Mama's leg, as if embarrassed.

It was years before she took us to another little gathering. By the time she did, we were more than ready to handle Malfoy and Parkinson.

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><p>AN: So, as usual, let me know what you think! This starts off really slow, but I've never done children before, soo...The title means "Death and Birth". Theodore's name means 'Gift of God' and 'Victor' whereas Dorothea's means 'Gift of God' and 'Cunning' for reasons that will later be explained.<p> 


	2. Hoc facite, non quod

**Disclaimer:** I definitely don't own Harry Potter. I'd sob at this fact, but...I think J.K Rowling did a better job than I ever would~

AN: _Well, this turned out to be a little harder to write than I would have thought, but this is wonderfully looked over by_ **GetWithIt**.

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><p>"What you doing?" Theo whines, peering up at me over my bed. He grabs the edges and pulls himself up. I move over just a little so that he can plop down and lay on the giant pillow beside me. He rubs at his eyes and curls up next to me.<p>

"Are." I correct him, absently.

"What are you doing?" He repeats, reaching out to turn the page of the book.

"Reading."

"Read to me," Theo commands.

I do. The funny thing is that wizarding tales are extremely similar to their muggle counterparts. Father would lock me in my room if I ever said that out loud, but they are. I've come to notice this as Mama tucks us each into bed. Despite having all of the left wing to ourselves, Theo and I share a room. We didn't when we were younger - Mama would have Vaniel try to separate us - but we snuck to each other's room so often that Mama grew tired of panicking after not finding one of us where we were supposed to be. Now, she's given up on keeping us apart.

I tell him the story of the Sleeping Witch. He doesn't roll his eyes at the part where the good pureblood prince is dancing around the forest with the pureblood princess, but I can feel the annoyance radiating off of him. He's more interested in the part where the prince saves the princess from the evil mudblood witch. He doesn't make it to that part of the story. I barely get there when I find my eyes getting heavier. Theo's head drops onto my shoulder. I shut the book and shove it to the side, carefully ignoring how the size of the book is bigger than my lap is. I try to pull myself up and gently move his head away from me and onto the pillow, but I wince. His hand has somehow tangled itself up in my hair.

I sigh in resignation and reach over to grasp his shirt. Mama doesn't let Theo's hair grow out, so I can't tangle my fingers up in it like he does to me, but I do cling to him. I'm pretty sure I had siblings in my first life. I remember a boy and a girl, both older than me. We weren't that close. They were a lot older than I was. Maybe that was why it is both weird and endearing that Theo and I do almost everything together. Even if we don't always hold hands, we're always together. If I'm not right behind him, he looks around the villa until he can find me.

I can't explain it, but I don't like to be separated from Theo, either. I don't feel right when he's not close to me. I'm more prone to...accidents. Accidental magic, that is. When Theo isn't around to keep me stabilized, things have a bad habit of flying across the room. It drives Vaniel crazy, and I'm sure that Sidhien isn't too fond of me, either. I need Theo beside me, he's my measuring stick and my friend. I'm much better at the lessons, but I'm not nearly as good socially as he is. According to Mama, my etiquette is atrocious.

Kyrios Kosta - Mister Kosta, that is - is the tutor that Mama hired to fix that. Each lesson, we sit at two incredibly cute desks that he's conjured up. Every time I see it, I'm more and more enthralled by magic. There is nothing like it. Even though mine is accidental, the euphoria that hits me when it catches me off guard is better than any alcohol or adderall I used to take. When he's not performing feats of magic, Kyrios Kosta is very boring, all things considered. Or, maybe, it's what I'm doing that's boring. I already know how to write. I already know how to form grammatically correct sentences. I know how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. Reading things aloud is difficult with my clumsy tongue, and turning the pages is annoying with stout fingers. It's harder to hold a quill than it is to hold a pencil or a pen. The amount of ink stains that Theo and I have is ridiculous.

"The magical community is very separate from the Muggle one." Kyrios Kosta starts, crossing in front of the two of us.

We're each seated at a desk, staring up at our tutor very intently, quills in hand. Mama had to go leave, once, and bring bag a different quill and inkwell for Theo. His handwriting improved significantly afterwards. (It still kind of looked bad, but mine did, too.)

"This is due mainly to the fact that muggles cannot be trusted with the knowledge of magic. Can either of you tell me why?"

The two of us glance at each other before Theo nods and turns back to face him, blank faced.

"They aren't worthy." I say matter of factly, like I'm telling him that the sky is blue. "They don't see magic for it's power. They think it's evil and have tried to kill us because of it..."

"Only," Theo continues, picking up where I left off. "We're too powerful. Their aff-efforts? were useless..."

"Muggle children have been burned at the stake and drowned, accused of being magical."

"In fact, the only magical beings they ever succeeded in killing were muggleborn children who'd done accidental magic in front of them."

"In some cases, the Muggles tried to use us for our strength."

Theo and I are taught a great number of things: English and grammar, maths, biased magical history, art, singing, and reading music, as well as Greek and some Latin. I was never much of a singer in my past life, so it's weird to me that Mama requires both Theo and I to be familiar with some of the older, classical songs. Not only that, but we are required to play at least two instruments. Theo is instructed on the cello and the piano by Kyrios Kosta, while I focused on the clarinet and violin.

We are terrible. Whoever thought that teaching children to play instruments was a good idea, they were idiots. Theo's fingers can't quite reach all the keys, so he is more prone to hitting the wrong note and slamming his fists down on the keys if he can't get it to sound just right. Not only that, but his frustration has his magic popping all the strings from his cello. I'm definitely not much better. You'd think being about 21 would help me control my own emotions, but that is definitely not the case. I know I should be patient. I know I shouldn't blow a gasket, but when my clarinet doesn't stop squeaking, I try to find extremely clever places to hide the stupid thing so I don't have to practice it.

Sidhien does not get enough credit, really. Father smacks him around all the time and tells Sidhien to punish himself for the littlest of mistakes, but that stupid house elf always manages to find my hiding places.

Mama thinks so as well because she normally tells us after our lesson. She tells us to be more patient - that it is undignified for "good little children" like us to take away from our intelligence by having ink smudges everywhere or hiding our instruments. I like when she does that - when she explains things to us rather than scolding us. Father isn't like that in the slightest, and I'm embarrassed to admit the amount of times I've cried in Mama's arms when he pinches my upper arm and scolds me for doing something that brings him embarrassment.

In my defense, I still have trouble controlling myself. I'm used to taking steps that are much bigger and reaching for things that should be in reach. I didn't mean to drop the cup when Vaniel handed it to me.

I used to love to play around. I would play soccer and roll around in the dirt. There was nothing that made me feel better then running down the field with my teammates and have my hair up in a sweaty knot - to not have to wear makeup and worry about what other people thought of me. It is so different, now. Mama and Father expect nothing but the best from us. I'm not allowed to play outside. If I didn't have a playdate with one of the other pureblood children, then I read a book or studied something Kyrios Kosta left for us.

Another thing that had changed drastically is how we eat. I used to grab whatever was convenient, or stuff whatever food was at home in my mouth before rushing off. Here, we are expected to dress to impress, even if it was just Mama and Father. (Usually, it's just Mama.) Theo and I have to be careful about going down the stairs. They're constantly polished by Sidhien, which means that we had to walk extremely slowly or risk falling down. (That was something Mama had told Kyrios Kosta - apparently, the Macmillan boy had magicked their own staircase into a sort of slide. She considered it extremely scandalous, especially because they had guests over at the time.)

Dinner is a very formal occasion, at any point. Vaniel irons our robes and make sure we have our baths. She dresses us quickly. Theo's ready by that point, but the house elf has to do something about my hair. I can't quite remember what it used to look like, but I know that, now, it is a wavy dark brown. I don't know who I got it from, especially since because both of my parents have dark hair. I do know, however, that Theo and I share more features with Mama than we do with Papa, and it is not something he particularly likes.

Not if his snide little comments give us any indication.

When Father is in, he sits at the very end of the table. Mama sits to his right and is always much more subdued than when he's not around. I like these dinners, though, because I get to sit right next to Theo, and, even though we don't really get to see each other's facial expressions, we can still understand what the other is feeling. Neither of us have an easy time sitting down. I manage it better than he does. We're both at a normal height, according to the healers Mama takes us to, but we're still short.

Today is one of the days that Father is here, and he doesn't look happy. Sidhien sets the table as Vaniel comes around and serves Mama, me, Theo and Father in that order. Father is given a soup today, and my stomach turns because of it. I don't mind Cream of Artichoke, but Theo's never liked it. He hates the smell and loathes the taste of it even more. He gets a salad, like me and Mama. Sidhien grabs the plates almost as soon as we're done with them, and then Vaniel comes with the course: Chorizo stuffed leg of lamb.

"Your tutor tells me you're both progressing quickly." Father says minutes into the meal.

I feel a sort of panic surge in my stomach and snap my head up at him quickly.

"Yes, Father." Theo answers dutifully, giving me a look out of the corner of his eye.

"Dorothea, he also says that you have been having some interesting discussions."

It's not a question, and I'm not entirely sure what he's asking, but I give him a slight nod and lowered my head just a little. "We've, uhm, been recently speaking about why muggles aren't worthy of magic."

His eyes narrow a fraction as he leans forward, looking at me carefully. I try very hard not to gnaw on the corner of my mouth and smile as best I can. It matters very little that my father and I are about the same age, mentally. The fact is that he is much bigger than I am and much more powerful. He nods, supposedly satisfied.

He sits back, looking wholeheartedly bored with us all over again.

Father doesn't interact with us much, although he does speak to Theo more than to me. He doesn't like me much. I've heard him call me 'the spare' to Mama several times. As far as I can tell, he doesn't like many things. He hates being embarrassed, which is why Mama, Theo and myself stay inside the Villa more than we go to anywhere. He is very serious and very sarcastic, at least to us. I imagine he's charismatic outside, seeing as he leaves to 'pay a visit' to his friends often. He's an elitist who sneers whenever "new money" tries to get in with him. That's why, I assume, he disappears when Kyrios Kosta is instructing us; that's why he was looking for our response.

Mama, on the other hand, is the opposite. Since she doesn't go out much, she talks mostly to Theo and I. Occasionally, she'll squabble with Vaniel and Sidhien. She is very open, and doesn't mind when she does something silly in front of us. It's true that she's pretty tough and expects a lot from us, but she doesn't mind when we mess up. As opposed to father, who would pinch us or punish us, she laughs and tells us not to do it again. She smiles, laughs, and sings for us. She helps us with our homework if Kyrios Kosta assigns it - and, often, he does.

That's why it made everything so much harder.

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><p>AN: Alright, let me know what you guys think. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Title of this chapter means: "Do this, not that."<p> 


	3. Magnis Amicitias

**Disclaimer:** I definitely don't own Harry Potter...or the universe...because I think we can agree that I would make it focus on the purebloods, haha.

AN: _I'm not sure how I managed to write anything decent without_ **GetWithIt**_looking over it, but somehow I did. Thanks a billion for looking over this! Also thanks for the _**15 **_follows, the _**10**_ favorites, and the _**257**_ views. I know that's pretty rare outside of stories under 30K._

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><p>Theo and I turn six on February 15th, 1986; I'm to turn twenty-four a month and a half later. Being six is much easier the second time. It's simpler to remember things I wouldn't have been able to in my last lift - like all the rules for the different languages. To be fair, Kyrios Kosta always casts the language charm on us before we start our lessons. There are still a couple of words that are difficult, but they're very few and the list grows smaller with every lesson. Theo, likewise, does infinitely better. Though he still has moments when his attention starts to wane, he vies for more notice, and he beams childishly when Kyrios Kosta or Mama pay him a compliment.<p>

Our paternal grandparents are dead. Father won't talk about it, and Mama either doesn't know the whole story or is reluctant to share it with two six year olds. Luckily for us, our maternal grandparents are still alive. Giagia Dareia and Pappous Kadmus are very fun to be around, society considering. They are extremely strict and obviously expect a lot from both of us, yet still somehow find a way to be doting at the same time.

Giagia Dareia is the type who will almost always find something to criticize. For example, my hair is too wavy, I have a mouth on me, and I don't seem to grasp that staring is impolite. Theo, on the other hand, is too emotional, doesn't necessarily speak up when he should, and is behind me in our studies. Despite this, she is incredibly affectionate and loving. Almost immediately after a criticism, she'll give us a hug. Pappous Kadmus, for his part, does that trick where he pulls a galleon from behind our ears. He also likes to 'secretly' give us candy, though Giagia Dareia almost always notices.

Pappous Kadmus was once the dueling champion of Greece and taught the subject at Plato's Academy of Magic. He retained the position for twenty straight years. It's actually because of him that Theo and I were able to get our wands so early. He scoffed at the thought of getting it at Ollivanders.

"No _engoni _of mine will get a wand from _that_ half-blood."

There is bad blood between them, apparently. Giagia Dareia claims that it is completely one sided. Mama is adamant that we can only learn certain spells until we're older, and then we can only practice them if Kyrios Kosta and Pappous Kadmus are around to specifically instruct us. My wand is nine and a half inches, rowan, and has a piece of boggart skin. It's also pretty inflexible, as opposed to Theo's. His is also nine and a half inches, oleander, and has a fragment of chimaera scale. Because we have our wands, we're the envy of all the other children. Now that we're six, we are often expected to attend play dates with several prominent pureblood children.

This is when it becomes extremely, painfully obvious that Mama is obviously not from England because she does make a couple of embarrassing mistakes. Mama and Father argue about it all the time, but, well, Mama is eccentric. She doesn't particularly care if you're old blood or new blood, if you're rich or poor, if you're Dark or Light. All Mama cares about is that your blood is pure. After meeting Giagia Dareia and Pappous Kadmus, I can see why she leans that way. Plato's Academy works much differently than Hogwarts. The rumor is that they only accept purebloods, but Pappous says that's a lie.

"The ones that are accepted come from prestigious families. _I̱míaimos_, I'm sure, would get in if they had the right connections."

If there was one thing that the Nott family had, it was definitely connections. Father seemed to know just about every "prestigious" pureblood in England, and, through Mama, a handful or so in Greece and Italy. If it were up to me, I'd rather stay with Giagia and Pappous. At least then the conversations I'd have would be somewhat intelligible conversation, if not 'simplistic' so I'd understand. Most of our peers either stare at me if I try to start a creative conversation because they don't understand, or laugh off my attempts because I'm 'younger' than them. If it weren't for Theo, I'm certain I would have gone off the deep end.

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><p>Lavender Brown is an extremely annoying six year old girl. She laughs loudly and wears odd clothes, for a pureblood. She has curly hair that falls to her shoulders and is apparently fond of dragging me around her room.<p>

"What do you want to do!" The blonde beams brightly.

I glance around the room, noting everything she has. "We could play dolls?" I don't play with dolls. Mama has gotten me some of the nicer ones that you can change into different robes, but I only ever 'play' with them when she first gives them to me. Then, they go back into their boxes and aren't touched. Lavender, Lav as she insists we call her, plays with hers very often.

"I love playing dollies." She takes one for herself, brushing the hair back lovingly before rummaging through the chest where she keeps them all.

Theo is promptly given the boy doll, although he stares at it then back at her with an expression that clearly screams he doesn't want to play, but is too polite to actually say it aloud.

"Ours are married now!" She says happy, pushing Theo towards where she has a little table set up.

I'm tempted to leave, but he casts a look over his shoulder at me.

'_...not leaving...help me._'

It's not the first time that I've heard this. Sometimes, when one of us is feeling some strong emotion, we can sort of hear what the other is thinking. Every time it happens, it leaves me more than a little curiosity, and I wonder if our connection doesn't have something to do with it.

So, I grab Lavender's most impressive doll and trail after the two of them. Lavender has us sit down at a table and serves us - and our dolls - some tea. She talks loudly and enough for all three of us.

"We're gonna have 3 kids, all girls." She beams at Theo. "And, Dory is gonna be their aunt and take care of them all the time while we go out."

My brother pales considerably, frowning at her. "She doesn't like to be called Dory."

It's Lavender's turn to frown now. Her pale cheeks flush with what looks like rage, but it's gone the next second. Instead, it's replaced with a giant smile as she peers at me. "What do you liked to be called?"

"Dorothea." I don't look at her, choosing instead to focus on the doll I have with me. I have one just like it back in Nott Villa. Mine still has the original silver robes, however. Lavender's does not. Instead, hideous orange ones that fit too big are draped over that are obviously too big.

"Why?" I can hear the pout in her voice, but I look up to make sure anyway.

"Only Theo can call me anything else."

"Why?" I think those look like tears in her eyes.

I open my mouth to say something - we can't have her crying, but Theo speaks faster than I do.

"Because, I'm her brother." He looks so smug about it that I can't help but take the blame for it later when Mama asks us why Lavender was crying. In our defense, her emotions were all over the place.

* * *

><p>I'd gladly take Lavender over Vincent Crabbe, however. Despite our best attempts, he rarely speaks to us. Even if we're particularly slow in our endeavors, he stares and grunts at us, uncomprehensively.<p>

"What do you like to do?" Theo tries.

The boy grunts.

"Do you know any games you might want to play?" I ask pragmatically.

This time, he shrugs.

"Do you like Quidditch?"

Theo doesn't like the sport, but that should just show how desperate he's become. Vincent is an overweight brute that neither of us like very much. Our playdates with him aren't very interesting. We don't do much of anything except wander around the gardens in their backyard or play with some of the games he owns in the dining room. He is not the type of boy who likes puzzles. Theo's trying several ways to come up with a conversation for them to have. It's not turning out very well.

He grunts again.

'_Dear Morgana, why?_' I frown in frustration, sitting down and giving up.

I do catch Theo's thoughtful head tilt, though.

* * *

><p>Miles Bletchley is funny in a way that Mama probably wouldn't approve of. He's crude and sarcastic; something I find odd coming from a nine year old. He's also pretty smart - certainly smarter than any of the other children I've been around. I meet him by accident; we're supposed to be having a play date with Marcus Flint, who is ten. Adrian Pucey is here as well, ignoring both me and Miles in favor of passing a Quaffle around back and forth with Flint. Theo is currently playing piano for Lady Flint, per the request of Mama. I just came from there and performed <em>Violin Concerto in D Minor<em> by Jean Sibelius. I think it might have been the first time that Father's looked proud of me.

I'm swinging, trying to be careful. I'm wearing periwinkle colored robes, and Mama would be furious if I got anything on them. I don't scream when I feel hands on my back, but I can't help the giggles. I glance over my shoulder, and Miles smirks back at me. I beam at him as best as I can and swing my legs.

'_Where...you...done playing._'

It's still difficult to do, but every once in a while I swear that I can hear Theo in my head. I try to reach out to him,

'_I'm here. I'm on the swing._'

I feel the grip of the swing swings under my hands tighten and Miles pulls back on the rope. I jerk backwards, just managing to catch my grip. My back hits against his chest as he slows the swing down long enough for me to be able to get down.

"Having fun, princess?" He laughs and pulls back on the swing as far back as he can go.

"I'm not a princess." I tell him haughtily, but I have to admit (if just to myself) that I sort of am. "Can you go higher?"

He laughs like I'm an amusement to him. He gives a couple of more pushes before Theo makes an appearance, and Flint and Pucey call Miles over to try to block their shots. He's apparently the Keeper. He opens his mouth, as if to tell them that he's busy when I dig my shoes into the ground to slow down.

"It's okay, Miles." I hop off the swing and head off in the direction of my brother.

"Yeah, Miles! The princess says it's okay!" Adrian howls and Flint laughs.

I reach Theo and find him staring at the broomsticks the way that I look at them. Theo is just as afraid of heights as I am, although for different reasons. He fell off a broom when he was five and would have crashed into the ground if the surge of panic that I had swelling up in me hadn't caused me to extend my hand out and hold him. My scream alerted Mama to what was going on, and she safely lowered him to the ground.

That's why Theo doesn't like the sport, although he knows everything about it enough to carry on a conversation with someone. When all else fails, it's a pretty good subject to go back to if the conversation is slow. We head back to the swings and somehow find a way for both of us to fit on it. We watch them until Mama and Father call us back to them.

The nickname sticks.

* * *

><p>Neville Longbottom and Ernest Macmillan are cute. They call themselves purebloods, but they act very little like the rest of us, except Brown. Macmillan, perhaps, is closer to our level. He already has a fraction of the tutors that we have and is required to have lessons. Most of his governors divide their time between him and that stupid, pompous blond Malfoy. Not to say that Macmillan isn't pompous as well, but he lacks the sneer and the superiority complex that Malfoy embodies.<p>

The first thing he said once we got away from the adults and introduced each other was, "My family can trace our lineage back _nine_ generations."

Only nine, as if that were such an accomplishment. It's such a shame that Great Granduncle Cantankerous Nott included them in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, which has been greatly diminished. It wasn't as though Macmillan could trace his lineage as far back as other, better families. The Longbottoms are also included in the list, although many consider the recent generations to be blood traitors. I'm not sure if Mama knew this before bringing us over. We're probably lucky that Father wasn't home.

Neville Longbottom is adorable, really. We've been here for a couple of minutes, and he has yet to say anything to us. His grandmother is an absolute nightmare. Mama can't really take us away even though I could see the way her mouth twisted unhappily in the corners when she first saw what the woman had on. Mama wears the latest robes from London, Milan New York and Paris. They're form-fitting and often in soft colors that compliment her looks. Mrs. Longbottom - she doesn't like to be referred to as Lady - did not get her robes from any of the fashion capitals. She had on a horrid brown robe that was too broad in the shoulders and made her look like a square. Not only that, but, as we walked in, there was a hat hung on the back of a chair that had a stuffed vulture glued on.

Mrs. Longbottom doesn't mind us being out and about. I guess I'm lucky that Mama let us know where we were headed after our lessons today, or it's likely I would have brought Father's gift with me. Father's gift is a book that I found horrifying to start, but ended up liking. _Mudbloods and How to Spot Them_. It's mostly humorous, and Father expects Theo and I to read a chapter a day and discuss it with him at dinner and answer any and every question he has for us. It no doubt would have offended Mrs. Longbottom's sensibilities.

"Do you like Quidditch?" Theo asks duly, and it occurs to me that this has become his default question whenever he can't be bothered to come up with anything else.

Ernest isn't here, so Neville doesn't have anyone to hide behind. He's gone inside to try to find his bag and pull out one of the books he brought with him. He wants to prove that he's just as advanced as we are.

"N-not really." His voice is quiet, and he's not meeting either of our gazes.

Theo's face, of course, lights up. "_Finally_. Me neither." He claps Neville on the back, almost knocking the slightly younger boy forward.

"What do you like?" I take this opportunity to ask him instead of letting my brother dictate the conversation.

Neville bites the inside of his cheek before flushing and averting his eyes to his shoes now. "I like plants?"

I see a look flash in identical blue eyes, and I can hear his disapproval. ('_Great...so boring.'_) I guess I'm lucky that he said this in his head rather than out loud. I'm pretty sure that Neville would physically deflate.

'_Be nice._' I scold him.

"There's nothing wrong with that." I say this really firmly, noting that Ernest is coming back. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, alright, Longbottom?"

I should have known that what I said would be taken out of context. We see more of Neville after that, but rarely at Longbottom estate.

* * *

><p>For every couple of meetings that we had with boys, we also had a couple with girls. Theo's almost always excused for these, and he disappears fast into his own room. The only time he hadn't been was with Lavender Brown. Most of the time, the girls come over here and I have to entertain them with <em>great manners<em> and a _smile_.

And I am, under no circumstances, allowed to Muggle fight. Not only is it far beneath me, but Mama assures me that there are better ways to get Pansy Parkinson to shut up. I think Mama's a little upset that we're not best friends, but I can't _stand_ that little girl. I'm not the only one, either. We're all smiles when the adults are around, but the moment they leave us alone, I'm in the corner with Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass as Parkinson is on the opposite side with Astoria Greengrass and the Carrow twins. Every once in a while, there will be other girls in and about, like the Patil siblings and MacDougal. There are even a couple of older girls occasionally.

Alicia Spinnet, ten, was nice, up until we realized that, while she was a pureblood, her father had remarried after her mother had passed away. That wouldn't necessarily be bad if it weren't for the fact that her father married a mudblood. Of course, we couldn't associate with that sort, according to Father. Elora Bole was in her first year of Hogwarts already, but we met her younger sister Iona, a year behind us. Cassial Snow is thirteen and already at Hogwarts, although she was incredibly good at braiding hair. Lillian Lawson is also thirteen and has an incredibly vicious temper. Nova Fawcett is ten and respectable.

On the much lovelier and easier side to deal with, there are Greek families with little girls closer to my age. Alayla Vasil is my age, and prefers to read than to play with dolls. Our time spent together is normally held in silence unless one of us calls the other over to look at whatever we're reading. Celena Remes doesn't like to read, but she does like to debate. I'm not required to learn a dance yet - Giagia expresses that she expects it soon - but Celena does it all the time. She's also far more flexible than I hope to be and we spend our time in the playroom trying out different tumbles.

I don't miss my old life like I thought I would. Over the years, the memories fade. No longer do I find myself crying into my pillow. Instead, when I find myself becoming sad, I bury myself in one of the books or find Theo and play with him. I still remember snippets, but they become more and more rare. I don't find myself frozen or overcome with grief.

Or, rather, I don't grieve for the past that's lost to me. I regret what happens next more than anything else.

* * *

><p>AN: There you go! Another cliffhanger because I can, apparently, only write cliffhangers. Let me know what you think! Was anyone a surprise? Did you expect to see them interact with someone else? The chapter title means "forced friendships". And, if you needed translations for any other words, here they are:

Kyrios - Mister  
>Giagia - Grandmother<br>Pappous - Grandfather  
>Engoni - Grandchild<br>I̱míaimos - Halfblood


	4. Vale, pars una

Disclaimer: After reading this, you'll see why it was a better idea that J.K. Rowling owned Harry Potter and not me, hahahahaha. -shifty eyes-

AN: _Once again! We all must thank the fabulous _**GetWithIt**_ for looking over this chapter! And, thank you to all of you for the _**4**_ reviews, the _**20**_ follows (up 5 from the last update!), the _**11**_ favorites (up 1 from the last update!), and the _**444**_ views (up 187 from the last update!) You should all know that every time one of those number changes, I get so giddy and excited!_

* * *

><p>Mama bursts into the room, waking me up. I sit up groggily and rub at my eyes with my palms, only really paying attention to her once she's pulled out a very stiff, black dress from my closet and laid it down on my bed. Her eyes are extremely red and puffy, and it's the least composed I've ever seen my Mama look.<p>

"Mama, what's wrong?" I ask, throwing the covers off of me and immediately going to her side. I'm uncomfortable at how distressed she looks.

"Your Giagia passed away." She gulps back what looks like a sob, leaning down and pulling me into a hug. "Your Pappous and I were afraid it was going to happen soon, but…"

I'm genuinely sad to hear this, but I'm not surprised. Giagia had stopped coming by nearly a year ago, after our seventh birthday. Her bones couldn't handle apparating, and she could no longer stick the landing if they were to use floo. Most often than not, Mama would have us floo to Megalos Chateau to visit them, as well as for our lessons on duelling from Pappous. I wrap my arms around her and give her a small squeeze.

"It's okay, Mama." I tell her that, but I can feel the tears coming up in my own eyes. I loved Giagia. She'd often patch me up after a session with Pappous. Or, she would tell old stories while braiding my hair. She would take me to the beach and walk along quietly as I gave in to my more childish whims and ran through the sand, liking the grains under my feet. She never told Mama or Father.

"It will be, Dorothea. Get dressed. Vaniel will be here soon to do something with your hair. I'm off to wake Theodore and your father." She presses a kiss to the top of my forehead before straightening.

That's when I notice the black, woven robe she has on. She's already dressed, with her hair in a side-swept chignon. She leaves me standing in my room alone, closing my door behind her. I want to give myself a moment to cry about losing my Giagia, but I don't want to make the day any harder on Mama than it has to be. I pull off my nightgown and pull my own robes over me. It's a black, patterned over robe with a navy blue under robe. It is also woven with brocade fabric. I'm pulling on a pair of matching flats when Vaniel pops into my room.

"Is little Despoinís ready?" Vaniel asks quickly, pushing on my shoulders until I'm sitting at my vanity, staring at myself in the mirror.

Although not as bad as Mama, my eyes are looking a little red from the effort of not letting myself cry and the constant rubbing of my eyes. In a vain sort of way, it makes my blue eyes pop out. The tip of my nose is also looking a little rosy. I open my mouth to retort - to tell the stupid elf exactly what I want done with my hair - but nothing comes out except a small garble.

"Despoinís be saying hair has to go back of neck." She nods smartly and begins. I wince when she combs through it. My hair has gotten a little long, and it tangles easily at night. "Vaniel is crying when Vaniel is sad."

She says this in a small voice, not stopping in her effort to twist back my hair. I take one miserable look at her. I almost want to be outraged that the house elf is trying to comfort me, but I can't bring myself to be mad at her. Instead, I look down at my hands in my lap and let myself cry. I think of when Giagia read to me the old tales. They had truly been fascinating - who would have guessed that Helen of Troy was actually a half-veela?

"Vaniel is done, little Despoinís."

I look up and stop myself from wiping at my nose with the back of my hand. "Tissue, please." I hold my hand out for her to give me one before dabbing at my eyes and nose, taking in what she' done with my hair. It looks a little like Mama's, but with more twists and braids. Vaniel's even left some of my front hair go in tendrils that frame my face.

"Master be wanting little Despoinís to see Master in Master's study when ready." Vaniel bows deeply and pops before I can dismiss her. I stare blankly at myself and shrug, sliding off the small bench and wandering down the hall and down the stairs to Father's study.

Father has gotten better at, well, being a Father. Theo and I still prefer to spend our time together - or with Mama - but we don't mind terribly the moments we're with him. He's not affectionate, not even now. As I'm allowed into his study, he doesn't put down his book and pull me into a hug like Mama did. He doesn't kiss me on the forehead, or even rest a hand on my head. He doesn't tell me to come any closer to him than I'm normally granted. Rather, he flips the page of his book before snapping it shut.

"Fix your face, Dorothea. You're a respectable pureblood, not some mudblood tramp."

I make absolutely no effort to do so, but stare at him glumly. Any other given day, I would hurry to do whatever Father asks, but not today..

'_Thea, where are you?_' Theo presses.

"You'll be staying with your mother in Thessaloniki for a couple of days, do you understand?"

'_With Father._' I nod my head.

"Your mother's family is very different from ours. I expect you to help her in every way that you can."

* * *

><p>I do help Mama, mostly because she has no sisters to help her. I wasn't aware that Mama was very close with Alaya's mother and grandmother, but both of them show up two hours after we do. They weren't the only ones who arrived; so do Celena and her mother. Because Giagia was proud of her Greek nationality, Pappous insisted we continue with the Greek rites. Celena and I aren't allowed to touch Giagia while Mama, Lady Vasil, and Lady Remes wash and anoint her. We pick out what Giagia is to wear for the rest of her body's time on earth.<p>

We pick out a soft, gray material that is lined with gold thread. Mama and the older Lady Vasil wrap the material around Giagia's waist several times before securing it with golden pins. They swathe the remaining material over her shoulders and bring it back to her front under her opposite arm. I try very hard not to cry, but Celena's arms around my shoulders let me know that I'm doing a poor job of it. It's my job to secure the jewelry around Giagia's neck and arms.

"Come here, Dorothea." I turn immediately towards Mama and flank her, my hands tugging at her side robe.

Mama doesn't look at me. Instead, she pulls out a galleon and sticks it under Giagia's tongue.

"I brought your violin, Dorothea." She conjures a small chair and pulls my violin case from the bag she brought with her, waving her wand over it and restoring it's proper size. "I am going to go and get Theo and your father. I want you to play Tristesse continuously until I get back. Stay here."

"Yes, Mama." I nod and reach over to pull out my violin carefully, tuning the instrument as best I can without Theo here to compare it to. I promptly sit down and start slowly and carefully.

I must have played through it twice, maybe three times, when I feel Theo's presence.

'_I have something very important to tell you._' He tells me matter of factly.

I'm still startled by his voice, but gain my composure right as Mama sits him down next to me and transfigures a chair into a piano big enough for him to play on, but small enough that it doesn't take all the space in the room. Several people come into the room to pay Giagia respect. Pappous is with her the entire time, holding one of her hands in his. Father stops by briefly, but he nods at Pappous and leaves soon after.

'_What is it?_' I ask, pausing in beat of rest.

'_Father is a terrible man._'

I glance at Theo from the side of my eyes with a slightly raised eyebrow.

'_There's a woman. I saw them kissing._'

My bow runs so hard into the strings that all three snap. Mama and Pappous both snap their heads to me, but I can only stare at Theo in horror.

* * *

><p>I don't look up when Theo walks into my room. We mourned Giagia for exactly thirty days before we were allowed to go back to our normal schedule. That meant picking up our lessons with Kyrios Kosta. That, in turn, translated into some reading and homework for Theo and I. My brother tended to take this news with a notion that he'd get it done when he needed to, but never as quickly as I did. I don't look up from the book in my hand. <em>Blast it All: The Story of Alberta Toothill<em>. It was largely made up, but certainly helped in giving seemingly useless duelling spells that tended to catch opponents off guard.

Pappous, after all, is expecting us to go back to Megalous Chateau some time later this week to resume our training with him.

I am very determined to ignore my brother, especially when he climbs up on the bed opposite me and stares.

"Thea." He says, finally. "I'm not going to be ignored."

"I'm not ignoring you." But I am. I try very hard to focus. Purus is a cleaning spell that flashes a very nasty shade of brown, but leaves everything in its wake spotless.

"You have to talk about it eventually." His tone is very exasperated.

"I don't." I retort. Purus, also, does wonder for robe stains and is surprising enough that Alberta's opponent's quit trying to attack her in favor of trying to figure out what she did to them.

"There's something else, too." He pulls the book out of my hand, closes it, and tosses it over his shoulder.

"Theo!" I complain. I'm about to slide off the bed in order to go and fetch my book, but his dark look stops me.

"I think Mama knows."

Mama and Father aren't affectionate, but there are moments that I can almost convince myself that they love each other. At the funeral procession, Father's arm was over Mama's shoulders like he was comforting her. He had whispered something in her ear. She had immediately gone off with Pappous, but he looked sad. I wanted to believe that he was comforting her, but maybe not? Since that day, it became painfully obvious that they were only really putting up with each other because of Theo and I.

"I don't understand what you expect from me, Theo." I frown at him, crossing my arms over my chest. "What do you want me to do? Tell them we know?"

He tilts his head up, thoughtfully. "What if we don't give them a choice? What if we make them tell us?"

I roll my eyes at his plan, but it could work. "Just pay a lot of attention and wait for them to mess up while one of us is there?"

He nods his head, sliding down from my bed and picking up my book to hand back to me. "Yeah, then they can quit pretending, right? I hate it when people pretend."

* * *

><p>Father doesn't mess up. Father is careful. I suppose it's easier for him. He's rarely ever home, and, when he is, he doesn't talk to us outside of grilling us over whatever book he's brought for us to read and discuss. (<em>Fact or Fiction: Are Mudbloods All What They Seem?<em> The book's answer was no, they weren't. They were clearly trying to take over the wizarding world and make it just like the Muggle world. Father has great taste in books.) The point is, Father never gets caught.

Mama does.

I don't think she intended for me to see, well, anything. It wasn't her fault that I happened to wander down at the time. Vaniel wasn't responding to my calls, and I do not call on Sidhien unless I absolutely have to. It was pretty late. Honestly, I should have been in bed, but my throat was starting to itch. I was certain Neville had given me a cold. He had been visiting with us earlier that morning, and we had been looking over plants before Theo had dragged him off to play a classic game of Gobstones. Mrs. Longbottom had been saying he had recently gotten over an illness and to be careful. No roughhousing, she said, though it's not like we ever did.

'_Why are you awake?_' Theo whines through our bond. '_Go to sleep._'

It's incredibly likely that he's sick, too, or getting there. I resolve to bring him a glass of water as well. To get to the kitchen, I have to pass through a small study. I don't see the problem. I cough into my hands when I push the door open. That's when I see it. Mama shoves Kyrios Kosta away from her, eyes wide and arms reaching for me.

"Dorothea! What are you doing out of bed?" She's frantic.

"What are you doing!?" I wish I could say that I'm calm and not at all affected. If anything, I might have been able to keep my head in this. I might have, if I didn't see the slash marks and the teeth indentations in his skin.

'_What's wrong? Thea!?_' Theo's moving about upstairs, I can feel him.

"Thea, no! Listen to me. Listen to Mama."

I step away from her, keeping my horrified expression on my 'tutor'. "All this time, I-I didn't know. Mama!" My voice drops. "He...He's _filthy_."

He is. Not because he has Muggle blood running through his veins, or because he's a halfblood or even a mudblood. He's filthy because he's not even completely human - not like the rest of us. He's the sort of impurity Mama and Father had warned us specifically to stay away from.

I don't register the slap until I'm looking up aghast at my mother.

"Amaltheia!" That _werewolf_ has the audacity to pull her away. Lot of good it does her, looking like that. Her crimson robes are half hanging off her shoulders.

"What's going on here?" Father bursts into the room, powerfully. Theo is right on his heels, eyes darting all over the place until he spots me. Without paying our parents or tutor any attention, he heads straight for me.

"Why's your face red?" He helps me up.

I'm very ashamed to be crying at this point. "S-slap."

"Hektor." She pushes away from Kosta again, eyes pleading. "No, not in front of the children."

Father laughs, striding in front of us. It's horrible and cruel. "You should have thought of that before you got yourself tangled up in a _half-breed_, Amaltheia. Did you think you wouldn't be caught? I never took you for this much of an idiot."

Theo's gaping, his hands pulling me closer. "Did the half-breed hit you, Thea?"

Father whips his hand out of his holster and points it at them. Likewise, he does it as well, pulling his own out reluctantly.

"Ranvir, no!" Mama pulls on Kosta's wand, trying to get him to put it down. "You'll hurt the children!"

"You'll never lay a hand on my children again, _vró̱ma_." I'm too much in shock to register that Father actually claimed us as his children to try to make sense of what he's said.

"If they're yours!" Kosta says furiously.

"You dare insinuate what's mine is yours!" Father shouts angrily, eyes blazing.

"Think about it, twins!" Kosta must be desperate because he turns to us. "Think about it. Who's taught you everything you know? Who's never said an unkind word to you? Who acknowledges you?"

"You hit my sister." Theo's voice is very firm, and he pushes me behind him to glare at the man that was once our tutor. "You...You've defiled our home. You are not _our_ Father. You are nothing but dirt." He turns sharply to Mama. "_You are not our mother_!"

Mama bursts into tears, looking more lost now than she did when her own mother passed away. "Theo, don't say that." She tries to move closer, but a nasty looking red spell hits the floor right in front of her.

Father still looks angry, but there is this new look in his eyes. Almost as if he's _proud_ of what Theo just said or something, but it cuts me very deeply. What our tutor said wasn't wrong, and Mama has always been the one who took care of us. She sung us lullabies in the crib. She held us when we cried, comforted us when Father scolded us. She was the one who had dressed us when we were younger and listened to what we had to say.

Mama was the one who jumped in front of Ranvir Kosta when Father shot sickeningly green colored curse his way. She collapsed onto the ground, eyes still opened in shock and tears still streaming down her face. Her would-be lover yelled in agony, dropping to his knees but not exactly touching her. Father raised his wand to shoot off another spell, but the Grecian half-breed seemed to remember exactly what was going on. He lifted his wand and countered every spell that Father fired at him. They moved away from Mama, throwing and blocking. Spells fired off in all directions of the room.

"Mama?" Theo's voice is raw, and I can feel him crying. We duck spells with a mastery that Pappous put there, crawling over to her. Theo holds her head in his lap, hands pushing against her cheek. I grab her hands and squeeze tightly.

"Mama, wake up!" He's sobbing now, too, just as hard as I am.

I'm angry that she hit me. Angry that she was cheating on Father, too. Father was supposed to be the bad parent, not Mama. Mama isn't supposed to die. She's supposed to take us to Diagon Alley - to see us off to Hogwarts where we'll be sorted into Slytherin, like Father, or Ravenclaw like her.

"Children!" Father shouts. I whip my head to look at him. Instead, I see a blue spell coming my way. I do the first thing that comes to mind. I jump over Mama and push Theo down, letting the spell hit my back.

And scream.

* * *

><p>AN: There you have it. Some very serious stuff just went down. Please let me know what you think and what you think is going to happen next. I like to have a good laugh, and, who knows? Maaaybe I'll incorporate some ideas.<p>

Despoinís - Miss  
>Thessaloniki - 2nd largest city in Greece, home of Megalos Chateau<br>vró̱ma - filth  
>Vale, pars una - Goodbye, part one<p> 


	5. Vale, pars duo

Disclaimer: I _still_ don't own Harry Potter, but I have lawyers!

And, by lawyers, I mean chips. American chips, not fries.

AN: Y_ou know who's amazing? _**GetWithIt**_ for looking over this chapter! (And in general...) And, thank you to all of you for the **5**__ reviews, the _**26**_ follows (up 6 from the last update!), the _**14**_ favorites (up 3 from the last update!), and the _**701 **_views (up 257 from the last update!) You all are a godsend._

_Also, a special thanks to _Pretend Fiction _for the lovely review that led to a panic induced, who-am-I identity crisis for both Thea and Theo. They loved that, haha._

* * *

><p>I don't wake up right away. Everything around me is dark, and I'm pretty convinced that I've just gone and died again. But I'm at peace with it because I died for my brother. I was a terrible person when I was <em>Abby<em>. I was conceited and rude. I thought he world revolved around me. In my second life, I was only marginally better. I didn't learn out of desire to better the world around me. I read because I liked it. I read because I craved information to help me get ahead in the world. The world revolved around me, yes, but not just me. I've accepted that I died as _Dorothea_ because it meant that Theodore could live. He'd be a great wizard. He'd be great and, if he could at least remember me, then I had done my job as his sister. I'm in this mindset until I hear a timid voice somewhere in the back of my mind.

'Thea?'

I'm shocked to hear Theo's voice, but he's not unwelcome. I wander off in the direction of his voice, but I never see him.

'_Theo? Where are you?_' I tap my foot impatiently. At least, I think I do. I can't see my body when I look down, but I can hear it.

'_I'm right here. Next to you on the bed. Why won't you wake up?_' He is not next to me on the bed. At least, I don't see him anywhere near me. I extend my arms and twirl.

I think.

I still don't see him. '_No, you're not. You're not anywhere near me, liar._'

'_Am so! You're in St. Mungo's. That man hit you with a spell, and you haven't woken up yet. I've been trying to reach you for hours since I woke up!_'

'_Hours? But, I've only just got here!_' I try to squish down the hysteria in my voice. It doesn't work.

'_Do you remember what happened? Father says it's important I ask you._'

'_Father's there?_'

'_Yes._' Theo sounds a little uncomfortable. '_Other people have already stopped by, too. Aurors._'

'_I felt sick. I think Neville gave me his cold._' I pause, frowning. '_I was thirsty, and Vaniel wasn't answering when I called her. So I thought I could get it myself. I was passing by the study when I saw Mama and that man. He had scars and bites all over, and I knew what they meant because of that book that Father got us!_'

'_Werewolf. He's a werewolf.' _Theo's voice is understandably disgusted._ 'Anything else?_'

'_I-Mama-He? He hit me, I think. Slapped me._' The memory gets really fuzzy here. '_Mama let it happen._' Theo doesn't say anything to negate this, so I think I'm right. '_Then, you and Father came into the room, and he and Father got into a verbal fight and then that man shot a killing curse at Father and Mama threw herself in front of him, right?_'

'_Right._' Theo answers immediately, voice sounding off. '_Are you okay? Father says it's alright to cry._'

_'I am sad, but really confused right now. Am I crying?_'

'_You are. Father's gone out to get a healer to see if that's normal._'

'_Don't get it in your mind that I'm abnormal, Theodore._' I chastise him because I know that's where his thoughts are going.

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't have to. My eyes flutter open. They open and I only really get to see how _white_ the ceiling looks and register that this is the hospital and not my room before I shut them again, wincing at the bright lights.

A heavy hand rests upon my brow. "Dorothea, open your eyes." I want to voice a protest, but I refrain. I turn my head in his direction and open them slowly so the first thing I see is Father. There is a new scar on his cheek. He looks worn and irritated, empty and overtaxed all at once, but otherwise okay.

I do grunt with the added pressure as Theo all but jumps on me. "You're awake!" He grins.

"That spell didn't kill me, but you might. Get off." I push him just a little with the one hand he's not already sitting on.

"Theodore." Father says gruffly. He immediately slides down and stands too straight at attention. It's unnatural. He's pale, and his hair looks shorter somehow, but he does seem to be unharmed, too.

'_Sorry. I'm just glad you're alive._'

'_Me too._'

* * *

><p>I stay in St. Mungo's for a week under close observation. Healers poke and prod me, as well as ask a lot of very stupid questions that I answer as best I can. This is accompanied by a lot of writing and hums. They like to hum and give me these very pitiful looks. I do get quite a few visitors in the short time frame, however. I'm shocked at the amount of 'friends' I've managed to make. Neville stops by twice. The first time is completely by accident, or so he claims. Draco and Lady Malfoy also stop by.<p>

I'm not entirely convinced that she _didn't_ see the way her son was making faces at me behind her back. Alaya and Celena stop by, thankfully, at a time when Lady Malfoy has gone out to speak with Father in the hallway. Neither of them have met Draco before, and I don't like the look that Celena is giving him. I don't make the necessary introductions, but Theo does. They try to make a joke at my expense, but it falls flat if their expressions are anything to go by.

Alaya sits next to my hip on the bed, and puts her hand over mine.

"Mama asked me to express that you don't have to worry about the precession rights. That she and Celena's Mama will take care of it. You'll only have to be there for the burning."

She puts her head on my shoulder, and I press my cheek against the top of her head. It strikes me that Alaya and Celena are very much my friends in ways that the other girls will never be. Theo's mouth is in a straight line at the image, but his attention is pulled away again by Draco.

"That half-breed is being thrown in Azkaban. He's got a trial, but Father's managed to make it short." Draco says this in a voice that, I think, is supposed to be comforting but sounds off, as if he's not used to comforting anyone.

Theo's mouth quirks, but he's not exactly smiling. "I think he should get the Kiss."

"The Kiss hasn't been given in years." Celena pipes, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Especially not in England."

"What's wrong with England?" Draco defends quickly.

Celena laughs like his question is the funniest thing she's ever heard in her life. "What isn't, compared to Greece? Even our Quidditch teams are better."

They're definitely not. Greece hasn't even made the World Cup within the last century. Everyone in the room knows it. Alaya snorts under her breath, and Theo, bless his soul, looks confused about how the subject has suddenly turned to _Quidditch_, of all things.

'It's to make us feel better.' I laugh inwardly when he frowns at me and subtly shakes his head.

"Shut up." Draco rolls his eyes. "At least you don't look like death anymore."

The last part is directed at me, and the room goes silent.

"She was unconscious, you prat." Theo spats.

Draco gives him a very flat look. "And, now the Princess is awake." He dismisses Theo with a shake of his head and turns back towards us. "Who has the better league?"

"Sorry, Celena. England does. I will, however, kick you out of this room if you say Wimbourne Wasps are the best team, Malfoy."

The indignant look on his face _does_ make Theo smile until he laughs.

"Tutshill Tornados are much better." My brother smirks smugly.

"Talk to me again, Nott, when you've won a European Cup." Draco says haughtily.

"The Wasps have only ever gotten to semis." Celena defends. "The Tornadoes almost won last season, but lost to Bayern Löwe 390 to 400. You speak when you've won a European Cup."

The blonde pauses to look at the Grecian witch appraisingly before nodding his head, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

Neville stops by, too, but after everyone else's left already. Pappous stopped by just briefly before he did and collected Theo to help him build the pyre for Mama. Father's also absent, having left for Nott Villa to pick out more comfortable robes for me to wear.

"You swear you're okay?" He sets the banquet of alstroemerias down on the counter before wandering closer, eyes wide.

"I'm sad." I admit because Neville's the kind of guy that you can tell feelings to without expecting a funny expression. "I can't believe she's gone. I keep expecting her to walk through the door and fuss over me."

He shifts uncomfortably, but nods his head. "Yeah, I know how you feel. I'm glad you're awake. I was worried when we read about the attack in the paper. No one, uh, told us." His face flushes a little, but he smiles uncomfortably.

I don't smile back right away because I know how vicious those papers can get. I've often laughed about it with Theo and Mama, the latter is - _was_ fond of the gossip section. It's only when I can see Neville becoming more physically uncomfortable that I force the edges of my mouth up and turn to look at the flower he gets me. "Those are too pretty to have been bought. You raised them, then?"

I won't stand for pity, and Nevile's attention is _easily_ diverted by flora.

* * *

><p>Mama's funeral is very much like Giagia's. Father and Pappous, as well as a couple of other men, carry her up to the pyre and gently lay her body down. I stand next to Father. Across from us, Theo and Pappous stand. Then, almost exactly at the same time, we say:<p>

"_Fo̱tiá_," with a lot of intent behind it.

The fire that comes from my wand - and, for that matter, Theo's wand - is nowhere nearly as impressive as the fire that comes from the adults' wands. The pyre they worked so hard to build up goes up in flames rather quickly. The stench of charcoal, copper, and sulfur hit me all at once. Father and Pappous glance at each other and wave their hands again. I didn't notice it with Giagia, but a small barrier goes up right in front of us, encompassing the smell.

I'm caught off guard when Father puts his hand on my shoulder. I'm shaking and trying very hard not to cry.

She was my Mama. My _mother_.

"Just this once, no one will hold it against you."

With his permission, the tears flow freely. I'm not ashamed of the way I cling to his robes and cry into his side, though I am surprised when his hand pats me gently on the shoulder in response. I can _feel_ Theodore crying across me from me, too, although when I look at him he's not crying into Pappous like I am.

I'm a little reluctant to lean back into Father, but I can't help but crave his approval. It hits me that this isn't going to be the first time I'm going to lose someone. The memory is fuzzy, but I remember some things from the canon line. And, I know that the man whose hand is around my shoulders is a Death Eater. I should hate him, but this is also the man who listened to me babble on about books when I was younger, enthused.

This is the man who taught me to read, even if the books were questionable. This is the man who comforted me when I cried, who protected me from a deranged half-breed even after losing his wife. I should hate him for our split ideologies, but I understood _why_ he did the things he did, even if I didn't like them. He is not the idea father, nothing like the dad Abby had, but he's my Father.

We leave for Nott Villa that night, saying goodbye to Pappous. After changing into my nightgown, I wait precisely one hour from when Father sent us to bed to leave my room and pad into Theo's. He's awake and doesn't really acknowledge me shoving him over so I can lay my head down on the pillow. He does, however, reach for my hand and squeeze tightly.

"Nightmares?" He whispers, knowingly.

"You too?" I briefly wonder if we're having the same nightmares. I make a point to ask him what his are.

He shudders. "_You_. The look on your face as you jumped over Mama to push me out of the way. I'm older than you, Thea. I'm supposed to protect you, but I was too weak. You were screaming. I see it all the time when I close my eyes. You're screaming and flailing. I can't even touch you because you were thrashing all over the place. Then, you stopped. Father managed to knock out that man, and you stopped flailing. You were too still and _so_ pale...I thought it wasn't a green light, but there are other ways..."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Me too, only...you. I didn't even think. I just...I didn't want to know what that spell did. I knew it was going to hit you. I didn't think about me. I just knew that I wanted to protect you. When I'm asleep, I'm too slow and the spell isn't blue. It's green. I see Mama falling down, and I try to reach you, but you're too far away from me. The spell hits you, and you fall. You just stare at me, but you aren't moving." I'm crying again. Theo squeezes my hand again, moving closer. "You just stare, and it's almost like looking into a mirror..."

"But, it's not. I know. It's okay." He's firm. "I'm never going to let that happen to you, okay? Nothing's ever gonna get between us."

"Típota?"

"Típota."

It won't, I decide. I won't let anything get between us. I've lost Mama and Giagia, and I can't stop age from taking anyone else I love. But, in that moment, with my brother to my side. I ignore the part of me that was Abby, the business major. I am Dorothea Medeia; the eight year old aspiring witch. I am Theodore Nikolas' little sister. I am Hektor and Amaltheia Nott's youngest daughter. I'm no longer an American - a _Muggle_. That part of my life is over.

Goodbye. Antío.

* * *

><p>AN: This is, of course, much shorter than the previous chapter and the following one. (So far, I think.) This is mostly to give you guys closure, haha. Review and let me know what you think!<p>

Fo̱tiá - Fire in Greek  
>Típota - Nothing in Greek. (Think of this, you TFIOS fans, as a better and sibling version of "Always" and "Okay".)<br>Antio - Goodbye in Greek.


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